Psychiatric Institutions Chapter Five

3 Replies

CHAPTER FIVE
PSYCHIATRIC INSTITUTION

We continued looking for ministries that could help Caty meet her mental needs. A missionary friend operated an orphanage for physically disabled children. Since Caty’s problems ranged from the physical to the mental shut-down, we arranged for her to live there, hoping to receive specialized treatment.

Within days, we heard of Caty lapsing into wetting her pants and acting out in ways we hadn’t seen in our Home. Their psychologist confirmed what we already knew. Caty had been traumatized, and it affected her mind.

In two weeks, we received another call from the director saying that she had taken Caty to the psychiatric institute in Guatemala City. The place I dreaded the most. The director said that their program did not work, and Caty didn’t fit into the category of mentally delayed.
I flipped out. We wanted Caty to come back to Shadow. This psychologically damaged child needed to be in a place of love and security. An environment to stimulate her brain. A psychiatric ward did not provide that opportunity.

Joanne and I frantically discussed what we needed to do to get her back while shooting up prayers like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I shuddered about the fear this girl would experience in such a place—alone and rejected. Lord, protect her, fill her with peace, and let her have favor with those around her. This would be no small feat because we no longer had legal custody. It belonged to the institution, and they would decide if we could get her back. But our God is a miracle-working God, and I found a sense of peace in my heart.

A week later, the Lord opened a door, and through all of the legal procedures, we got custody of Caty. Joanne and I went to the mental institution and met with the director. She seemed impressed that we wanted Caty in our Home. She observed Caty and reported that she didn’t belong in this type of environment. Her cognitive abilities excelled above the other residents. Caty needed to come home.

As we waited for the completion of the paperwork, I wondered how our little gal would react when she saw us. Would she be excited? We had entered the building through the dining/kitchen area, and Caty stood by a table. She looked up and then turned her back to us. Did Caty feel angry for all she had endured? Did she think we abandoned her? Within our hearing, one of the workers commented to another that she was glad Caty would leave with us because she didn’t belong with this population.

The director’s office opened to a hall that separated her from the metal cell structures on the other side. I watched as men and women sat listlessly on the concrete floor. In contrast, others moved slowly around, speaking gibberish and making loud sounds. I knew the cells served to protect the people within but lacked any semblance of a home. I saw only adults, so I assumed Caty joined them. How could she ever come out of her shell with significantly mentally challenged people surrounding her?

With the legalities completed, I went to Caty, got a half hug, took her hand, and told her we were going home. She turned, flipped the other hand in a half-wave to the workers, and said, “Adios.” Off we went as she matched my steps to the car. Perhaps in her secret place, nothing had happened since she left our Home several weeks before this. I believe the Lord spared her the trauma because of prayer.

Caty’s Refuge

2 Replies

School Options

Darla France from Life Touch Ministries (http://www.lifetouchmin.org/) described trauma:“When a person witnesses or experiences an actual event where he feels threatened or hurt.” We had confirmation in Caty’s situation that she could not deal with the trauma she experienced and shut down part of her brain. So, where do we go from here?
My problem-solving went into overdrive. I pondered what Caty’s individual needs would include. I questioned how to obtain justice in her life when we had nothing to track those responsible for the abuses. It overwhelmed me, but the Lord graciously reminded me to trust Him with the plan for her life. But, unfortunately, my worrying didn’t bring anything positive to her situation.
“Oh, Lord, will I ever learn that You are the One with the answers for Caty?”
Joanne, the staff, and I discussed additional help for Caty. “We must keep her with us for as long as possible.”
“Let’s send her to our school with the girls just like they would with special needs students in the states,” said Joanne.
“We can check out other options while she’s occupied there,” I said.
We sent her with the girls, and I chuckled as I saw her strut and giggle as they walked the three blocks. Several self-appointed classmates stepped forward to help. The director and teachers at Liberty Christian School set up a program for her while looking at other possible services for Caty.
The social worker found a school for intellectually disabled children a short distance from San Cristobal. Joanne and I visited the facility and liked the plan they had for their students. I didn’t know how Caty would feel being away from her security, but we needed to test her response. It concerned me about her reaction to the transportation service available for the students. Would Caty refuse to leave with strangers?
The day the van came, she fell over her feet with eagerness and jumped into the back seat. I relaxed as we prayed for her and trusted that it would be a good day. All her actions hit on the positive. One more step toward learning how to cope with her disabilities. 
When the van returned that evening, Caty gave me her mulish look. “Chica mia, they will come and get you tomorrow, and then you can go to school again.” With pushing and shoving, we finally got her out of the van.
Within minutes the girls surrounded her with questions, and her pout turned to a smile.
“Did you like school?” 
“Was it fun?”
“What did you do, Caty?”
She giggled as her hip swung out in a pose of importance.
After a few days of school, Caty shuffled with her arm stuck back and out while her foot dragged. At mealtime, we saw her eating with her hands. Then it struck me that Caty imitated the children she spent the day with. She copied the behaviors of cognitively healthy girls, but now a different class of people modeled for her. Actions of regression did not go with our plan.
“Joanne, we can’t let this continue. So we are back to the beginning with her.”
“Let’s pull her out of the school and send her back to our school. She must stop this new behavior and continue imitating our girls.”
Disappointed, I crossed one more idea off the list of options for helping Caty to receive an education with her handicap.
We put Caty back into Liberty Christian School, and she settled in as if she had never left. Perhaps she went into her secret place while away from the Home. The foot-dragging stopped, as did other adverse actions.

Caty’s Refuge

Leave a reply

THE INVESTIGATION

During the first several months, Caty spoke only a few simple words on rare occasions. One day she said, “Mama left, Mama left,” but didn’t say anything more. At times, Caty described “blood all over, dirty” to her caretakers with hand motions from the elbow to the wrist. She described a scene by crossing her arms in front of her and said it was “bad.” Caty told about a knife and slid her hand across her throat. Another story came out about a baby and a boy riding a bus. Caty mentioned a papa who had blood all over his arms and hands. She repeated the words of gory happenings, so we knew that something horrible had taken place with her watching or participating. We couldn’t come to any conclusions because of her limited speech and mentality. We speculated about her involvement in satanic rituals.
Caty had mental and physical issues that needed immediate attention. So we followed what we thought to be the obvious route of wisdom.
I first took Caty to a missionary dentist. After the exam, he said that her teeth indicated she was fourteen years old. We guessed she would be younger. I realized girls appeared smaller than their age when nutritionally deprived in early development.
A medical doctor’s exam verified that she had scars from physical abuse on various parts of her body. In addition, her stomach and pelvic area had marks of cigarette burns. Injuries from consistent sexual abuse were prevalent and would set anybody’s imagination into orbit.
The judge ordered testing by the children’s court psychologist. I hoped that this routine would disclose something about this mystery child. I went with Caty to assure her she wouldn’t be alone and followed the woman’s instructions doing the assessment. I led her to the room and thought it better to be out of sight. Caty sat slumped in the chair, her eyes looking downward and her bottom lip sticking out.
I’m sure the psychologist tried every trick she had to document some action, but Caty portrayed a frozen statue. Finally, the court official told me that Caty didn’t need to return for any more psychological appointments. Her parting comments included putting Caty in a mental institute as the best option for her.
No, Lord, she can’t go to one of those horrible places. Where is the justice? My heart sank. I had hoped that something would help unravel the mystery about Caty. But instead, I left the appointment with her, hand-in-hand, and with pain in my heart.
Part of the process of finding missing family members requires putting the child’s picture in the newspaper and on TV. Shadow of His Wings complied with this part of the investigation. First, we waited for answers to the missing person’s report. A word from somebody looking for Caty or who recognized her face, but nobody came forward.

In a city of 2.5 million people, how does one find the necessary information for one girl with no leads? Caty needed a name and birthdate for registration in the computer system. Since nobody responded to the publication of her picture, the judge gave a name and set her birthdate for the court’s records and documents. Up to this point, Caty didn’t exist.
Next, we arranged for Caty to meet with a brain specialist. Having a professional evaluate her brain function would undoubtedly shed some light on how we could help this young girl. I looked forward to this meeting with great anticipation.
While waiting for the neurologist’s exam, my thoughts went down many avenues as I watched this young girl. Who bore the responsibility for the damage done? Would Caty recover and be able to function normally? Is she locked up inside her head with the inability to communicate with us? Question after question came as I struggled within myself. Yet, we wanted to help her find her identity and come to healing.
After the exam, the doctor explained that Caty had a healthy brain, but not all of it was functioning. He said he had seen many cases like hers during his time as a doctor in Guatemala.
“These children are part of satanic rituals and subjected to horrible things that they can’t emotionally endure. So they escape by shutting down that part of their mind.”
I hung on to every word the doctor said, trying to grab hold of any helpful information. I never expected to hear him say, “In cases like this, the survival instinct is for protection, and a part of the brain turns off. That is simple layman language for what happens.”
“What can be done to help her?” I asked, pen in hand, to write down the recommendations.
“At this point, there is nothing you can do,”
“You don’t have any suggestions on how we can help Caty?” I said.
“There is an institute for the cognitive deficit run by the government. I recommend you put Caty in this place for her sake and that of your orphanage.”
I walked away from the meeting feeling like a door had slammed in my face. What would we do with a fourteen-year-old who needed the care as if Caty were four? What about justice for this child who became a victim of sinful and selfish people? Could her family, a mother or someone, be out there looking for her? A part of me wanted to protect her and keep her in the Home. Another aspect of me knew how difficult it would be to allow her to stay, but a mental institution would not be the answer. Caty deserved more in life. I felt like angry bees buzzed in my head.
I prayed as I drove back to the orphanage, “Lord, where do we go from here? Please show us the way. I don’t know how we can help her, but I know she didn’t come to us by accident. Help us to know the plan.”
Caty watched me with a grin. Excitement showed on her face because she got to go someplace in the car with Mama Carroll—a big treat in her eyes. I smiled back. There had to be a way to work all of this out. I trusted the Lord to bring us the answers.

Fitting In

5 Replies

Instead of looking at Caty as a reject, the girls hovered over her. They helped her dress, organized her personal items, and played the beautician; they helped in any situation. I loved watching them fix her hair with little braids. After a manicure treatment, she strutted with her hands out in front of her. One time she marched into the office, foot and toes pointed out, and said, “Look, look, Mamma Carroll.” 
“Caty, they are beautiful, and so are you,” I replied. She danced out of the room with sparkles in her eyes.
 
The beginning had its hard times.
“Caty, it is time to go upstairs and get ready for bed.” Caty looked at me and back toward the floor, but didn’t try to get off the couch.
“Caty, it is time to go upstairs.” The other girls had left for their bedrooms, but Caty didn’t budge. I took her arm and nudged her toward the stairs. I felt a solid resistance. I realized stubborn as a mule would be added to the list of issues we would face. I lifted her face and looked into her eyes, but she refused to connect with mine.
“Caty, you are God’s beautiful creation. He loves you, and we love you. He brought you to our home so you would be safe and be part of this family, but being in a family requires obedience. So I’m asking you to obey and go upstairs.” I prayed for the Lord to help Caty act on what I said. I didn’t know if she understood my words, but she rose and, like an inchworm, moved up the stairs to her bedroom. Unfortunately, we would see a repeat of this behavior many times and not always with positive results.

I watched Caty settle in with our family, showing the maturity of a toddler. She needed help with many activities, including taking a shower or brushing her teeth. The girls taught her to eat with a spoon and a fork, but she preferred her fingers. 
Her deep needs kept me pondering what we could do with our limited staff and abilities. I knew the love and security she felt influenced her positively, but I wanted to see healing. Could this be the result of drugs before birth? We needed to know what damaged her brain functions and what could be done to correct or heal those areas. 
   
One day, all the girls except Caty went on a retreat to San Pedro. I thought this would be a good time for the interns and me to take her to the new mall for an outing. The stores were on the second level, and I braced myself as I looked at the escalators. Caty had never seen such machines, and her round eyes and big grin encouraged me to take the risk.
“One of you girls step in front of us so you can help if needed,” I said. I hugged Caty around the waist with one arm and grabbed her hand with the other so we could step together. I held her back to keep her from stumbling as we moved onto the escalator. She shrieked, and everyone in the area turned to see what had happened. Our girl laughed all the way up, to the delight of the observers. 
From there, we went to McDonald’s for lunch. “Caty, would you like a hamburger and french fries to eat?” Her eyes glowed, nodding as if she had just entered Heaven. I passed the food to each girl from the tray. We had barely finished praying when Caty dived in and devoured everything within a few minutes. I guessed she feared her food would disappear. We returned to the orphanage with a reluctant youngster. The afternoon wore me out, and I longed for a nap. But not Caty; she wanted more action.

Visiting teams brings excitement to Shadow. The kids look forward to times of playing games, doing crafts, listening to teachings, and developing family relationships with people who treat them special. Caty’s ears perked up when she heard that a team would be coming because she had her favorite people. Even though a year might have passed since the last time she saw a friend, Caty immediately nuzzled up to their shoulder when that person returned. She stuck like glue until departure time.
It surprised me when English popped out of Caty’s mouth. One time a team brought the girls back from an excursion. Caty jumped out of the van, did her little half-wave, and said, “Good night,” in clear English. It tickled us to see her developing in the language area and becoming bilingual.